


A Creature of the Night

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person, Post-concert, Reise Reise Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Schneider looks amazing in the shorts and fishnet, complimented by the striking black makeup that runs down his cheeks in winding lines. Paul can't help but flirt a bit.





	A Creature of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> [AHOI](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2ad4433d26bdafbd0db0ea742438181f/tumblr_pd66q8ypPb1wffjmmo2_500.jpg) [Schneider](https://78.media.tumblr.com/ba646d0d6b17174f0aa85a980f7b3738/tumblr_pd66q8ypPb1wffjmmo1_1280.jpg) is literally my favorite stage outfit. He looks so good. 
> 
> I just wanted to write Paul ripping the fishnet off of him, so I didn't write the actual smut. I have to work on other things, okay?

Sweat gleams on his skin like frosting just waiting to be licked off. It has his torn, black top clinging to him, his curls damp and tight. His makeup is stunning, a jet black that runs down his cheeks like lightning strikes. Somehow, his eyes are made even more piercing with the heavy eyeliner surrounding them. He looks like some sort of creature, a thing of the night, emerging to play the drums for a crowd of thousands. He looks haunted. Like a wild, ravenous animal, even. The tiny shorts and wicked fishnet only contribute to the jaw-dropping look.

“You look like a lot of things right now,” I say confidently in one of the dressing rooms, earning a glance from icy blue eyes—he’s just removed his headband, his long curls falling loosely around his ears.

“But most importantly, you look incredibly sexy,” I finish, crossing my muscular arms across the worn straps of my lederhosen. He cracks a laugh at that—as if I was joking. He glances at me with a teeth-baring grin and amused eyes. The stripes of black that drip down his cheeks makes his smile look unusually creepy. _He_ looks creepy.

Every time he looks at me with those haunting eyes, it feels like I’m being slapped across the face with how breath-taking he is. I stare, unashamedly. He looks away, shakes his head a bit, as if he’s shy, or denying it. His sweaty curls shake from the motion. I can see his dimples still, even with his head turned away. He runs his fingers through his hair as he says, a laugh in his voice, “I think I’m wearing it out. I’m starting to feel like a twelve year old who had a little too much fun with mommy’s makeup.”

“Hardly,” I counter, earning another snort. I step up closer to him. He peeks at me past his shoulder, hand pausing over the brush he had reached for. Till, Richard, and Ollie are in the other dressing room. Flake is in the adjoined bathroom of this dressing room, scrubbing his face off and brushing his hair. I know he can hear us. I don’t care.

“I want to lick it off of you,” I proclaim boldly, with a grin spreading across my face. Schneider makes some sort of confused, surprised, and slightly revolted expression. Then he looks me up and down, finally _looking_ at me for the first time tonight. I bite my bottom lip to repress my grin.

“I think a makeup wipe would do the job better than you,” he remarks, turning away again. I deflate, frowning.

“Well, you would be using it without its permission. I’m _offering._ ”

“So now I have to gain the consent of a makeup wipe to use it, you’re saying?”

“Absolutely. It’s unfair to the makeup wipe.”

Schneider laughs again, that high-pitched giggle that makes me smile. He turns to me again, now brandishing the brush. He begins working it through his wild curls, smiling at me. I stare, enamored. He glances towards Flake uneasily, I notice. Flake steps out into the dressing room, indicated by the tapping of his footsteps against the linoleum floor. I glance over my shoulder. He’s eying us. I eye him.

“Flake, give us a moment,” I demand, impatiently. Flake looks at me blankly, rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves me off, and then grabs his clothing off the rack before stepping out of the dressing room. I turn back to Schneider. Schneider is staring at his reflection as he brushes out his hair. Cheekily, I lean in to kiss him on the sweat-slicked shoulder. He elbows me gently, peers at me past his raised arm as he continues brushing his hair.

“Look, if you wanted to do something,” he says, glancing back towards his frustrated expression in the mirror, “Just do it. I’m too tired to dance around it, Paul. Don’t act all coy with ulterior motives. It’s annoying—at least, right _now_ it is, alright?”

“Alright,” I say, agreeing. I know it’s annoying, but I don’t know how else to gauge his mood when it comes to these things. I reach out to snag the brush from his broad hand. He lets me. I set it on the vanity. He stares at our reflection, hands lowering to rest on the surface of the table. I reach out to grab his sides, his torn shirt tickling my fingers. He lets me turn him to face me. He looks at me with a stony expression, his brow set low and eyes intense.

“But, firstly,” I say, stepping closer, close enough I can smell his sweat, close enough I can see the freckles in his blue eyes, close enough I can see the lines in his thin lips, “What do you want?”

He searches my face, smiles very faintly.

“I want this fishnet off of me,” he says softly, gazing into my eyes (it is actually quite flustering; his eyes are gorgeous). I nod, smiling again. Affirmation of consent. My favorite. I reach out to grab handfuls of his torn tank top. I begin pushing him carefully, cautiously, until he begins to step backwards. I lead him to the nearby couch, eyes trained on his. Then I shove him back onto it—he collapses upon it with a grunt, his curls bouncing. He look up at me with wider eyes—the color of them contrast sharply with the heavy eyeliner and lines of black makeup.

“What else?” I ask as I move to stand between his knees, nudging his legs apart. He spreads his thighs open—the gesture is so simple, but it turns me on. I greedily swim my devouring gaze across his long, muscular thighs, trapped in fishnet, up to the tiny shorts. He rests his hands on the leather couch on both sides of his hips, looks up at me with a slight smile.

“I don’t want you to lick my face,” he admits with a tilt of his head, “But I would like it if you would kiss me, I think.”

I nod, grinning. He looks up at me with this subtle affection in his eyes—it’s so hard to catch, I’m sure only _I_ know it by heart. It took so long for me to earn such a look. I’m glad I do now. I reach out to rake my manicured fingers through his brushed curls. He continues watching me with this newly made hunger in his beautiful eyes.

“I can do that,” I muse, feeling as if I’m smooth as butter, “And I can lick a different part of you, too, if you’d like.”

He pauses, looks up at me with wider eyes. Then he bursts out laughing, his head tipping back in that genuine way that I love evoking from him. It has me grinning broadly. I hold the back of his head as he cracks up, before he regains his composure and looks at me with amused eyes and a dimple-bearing grin.

“That was so slick, Paul. How could I say no?”

“You know, something else will become very slick, very soon.”

“Stop! Oh, my god!”

I laugh myself and then I lean in, curling my back to reach his height so I can kiss him with an angling of my head. Humming quietly, he immediately reaches up to clutch at my forearm, his pretty lips pursing up against mine. I love kissing him. I love it. It makes me feel so happy—it’s hard to put into words. It’s similar to love, but I’m not quite sure how to label it. I have to hold back a smile as I kiss him with affectionate purses of my mouth, our lips overlapping and sliding together.

His nose is pressing into my cheek, his curls brushing against my skin. I kiss him for a moment longer before I pull back to search his face. He looks up at me with happy eyes. It makes me weak in the knees. I continue holding the back of his head, fingers lost in his curls—I lean in to kiss him on the forehead.

“Let’s get this fishnet off of you now,” I say, sliding my hands out of his hair. I glance down to stare at his legs, his perfect legs, wrapped in that dangerous fishnet that is unfairly sexy on him. With both hands, I hook my fingers into the fishnet. Sharply, I tug them, ripping apart the fishnet without hesitation—the tearing of the fabric is loud in the dressing room. He tenses up, makes a slight noise as if he didn’t anticipate that. But, he should’ve. He knows me. I would never remove the fishnet how it should be removed.

The ruined fishnet looks just as good on his legs. I rip the leg of the fishnet right off of him, roughly and smoothly, and then I reach for his other thigh. He doesn’t argue, I notice. He watches, hands in fists by his sides, as I clutch fistfuls of the fishnet, and then _rip_ it apart. The meshwork of fabric hangs pathetically from his legs, in pieces. I begin unbuttoning his shorts quickly, getting ahead of myself. He lifts his hips for me to violently tug them down his ass and thighs to his knees, exposing the waistband of the fishnet that hugs tightly around his belly—okay, that’s really cute, actually. Underneath are his typical short briefs that cling pleasantly to his hips.

“I want to suck you off,” I say thickly, already reaching out to curl my fingers into the hem of the fishnet, beginning to wiggle them down. I glance up to meet flustered blue eyes, framed by the striking black eyeliner. He bites his lip, nods, his curls shaking. I grin a little, excitement curling in my belly. I really enjoy making him feel good. I look forward to being on my knees in a second.

“Let’s get this off of you, then,” I muse, plucking at the waistband of his briefs impatiently. He reaches out to snatch my wrist before I could do anything more. I glance up to meet his widened eyes.

“Please don’t tear those off of me. I value my balls.”

That has me laughing. He’s so talented at ruining the mood. I love that about him.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
